Learning to Walk
by Carolinasunfire
Summary: I woke up screaming, my vision marred and obscured by the blood of children and fire. It did not matter, really, that it was all over; for while the war was over and won outside, it raged on brutally within. Every night was the same. Every night I woke up to the alarm of my own screams and the nightmarish noise pollution of bombs, gunfire, and cries for mercy. POST MOCKINGJAY.
1. Chapter 1

I woke up screaming, my vision marred and obscured by the blood of children and fire. It did not matter, really, that it was all over; for while the war was over and won outside, it raged on brutally within. Every night was the same. Every night I woke up to the alarm of my own screams and the nightmarish noise pollution of bombs, gunfire, and cries for mercy. And every night I watched her die.

My sweet Primrose, so young and so full of life; so positive and hopeful despite the tragedy around us…my sweet Primrose is now dead. She was my hero and if someone had to die, why couldn't it have been me?

I started all this…I am the mockingjay. I am the face of the rebellion. I am the girl who took on a totalitarian government and a sick president. I am the one who outsmarted the vicious and cruel games. I am the one who never followed the rules. And now I am the fire mutt. And now I am the reason that the one I so desperately love is dead.

New faces appear in my already crowded and hopeless mind. Finnick, the boy with the sugar cubes who was hungrily torn apart by mutants seeking my blood. He left behind a wife and a child. Boggs, the commander who believed in the rebellion and gave his life for mine. Rue, the sweet girl from district eleven whose sweet melody was my call to safety, who was much too young to be taken into an arena for the slaughter. I see her again, caught in a net that I can't untangle and pierced by a spear creating wounds that I cannot heal. Rue, who reminded me of Prim.

I slowly slid out of bed and moseyed toward the kitchen for a glass of water. I don't bother to turn the lights on; I sit in the dark by the bar in the kitchen trying to shake the screams from my head. Trying to be alive, but I just feel so dead.

I have come so far since I first arrived back in district twelve, at least that is what they tell me. When I first arrived, I lay empty and inaccessible on the bathroom floor for two weeks, a shell of a human. Greasy Sae came by and eventually I began to eat and with help, I began to shower and use the burn ointment from the Capitol.

I don't need help anymore. Greasy Sae comes by less and less, but every now and then she'll stop by with stew. Dr. Aurelius calls from time to time to check in on me and technically counsel me. I don't answer the questions much, so eventually he does not ask much. He reminds me to apply my ointment and to call if I need more then dismisses himself. I barely notice. Occasionally, and only on very rare occasions, my mother will call. She tries small talk and then just like everyone else, gives up and says she will call back next week. Next week is more of a figure of speech. I think the reason she does not call so often is for the same reason I do not answer so often: we remind each other of what's missing—a beautiful thirteen year old blonde girl.

The sun begins to rise outside my window and I faintly wonder if Peeta is up and at it. I don't keep tabs on him; I just know what I am told. I haven't spoken to him since we were in the Capitol together six or seven months ago…I have lost track of time since Prim has been gone. He moved back to district twelve and he seems to be doing better. He reopened his family's bakery a few months ago; I haven't gone. He planted Primroses outside of my house. He lives next to me so sometimes I happen to see him, but never on purpose and I never acknowledge him. He silently leaves things for me sometimes, just like he wordlessly planted the flowers, sometimes he'll leave a basket of cheese buns on my front door. I eat them without offering a thank you. It's not my intention to be rude, I just don't want or need anyone. I only wanted-_needed_ one person and she was ripped from me.

To become attached is to become susceptible to hurt.

Hadn't I reached my quota on hurt? With my father dying in the mines, my mother's neglect, two games, a war, and the loss of my beautiful Prim? Haven't I suffered enough? I guess life hasn't gotten the memo that it can stop hurting me now. It's done its job. I am eighteen…but I have lived enough lives for everyone in Panem. They say time heals all wounds, but with each passing day, I miss her more. I yearn for her laugh. I cry and she is not there to comfort me. I ache for her and the gash is opened with fresh pain and new things come to remind me of her. I am reminded that around this time of year, she always scrapes up whatever she can to give to Mother and I as gifts, goat cheese or something she has stitched together. I am so lonesome and so desperate for any semblance of Prim that when her old mangy cat comes back, I welcome him with open arms inviting him to mourn her with me. Because she is missed. The world is void and colorless without her.

Hours pass before I realize that the sun is higher in the sky and I am still stationary, a fixture in my kitchen. I am just as permanent in this house as the cupboards and floor boards, because what is outside that will heal everything broken? What will bring all those lost back that can be found outside these walls? What is there for me but a life of brokenness and isolation? Maybe someday I can muster up the courage to find out, but not today.

I think about the woods, I think about Gale, and I think about how simple it was then. Yes, I was supporting my family single-handedly with the poached meat I'd hunt. But that was before I was sent into an arena where people eagerly watch me suffer and sit on the edge of their seats to see children brutally murdering children. That was before I thought I could outsmart the gamemakers and bring home two victors. That was before all the lies and secrets and puppet masters pulling my strings. That was before I killed the Presidents. And that was before that bomb exploded on Prim.

This thought brings me back to Gale and his bomb. The bitterness and resentment coils up inside of me intertwining with my intestines snaking all the way up my throat. I really think I may hate him. The thought has occurred to me that he never intended for his design to kill my sister, but it did. And I don't feel much like being gracious or forgiving. I tell that side of me to shut up and let me continue to wallow in my misery soiling myself with regret and shame.

In the midst of my thoughts, the phone rings. I am tempted not to answer it, but remember that if I don't, they may send someone to check on me. I pick up the telephone on the third ring and the voice sounds surprised when I answer.

"Oh, hi K-Katniss" a low and shaky voice replies. I have to admit that I am surprised to hear from him. I thought our arrangement was nice, you know, him bringing me cheese buns and me not having to face the daylight.

"What do you want Peeta?" My voice comes off more gruff than I intended, but I don't try to adjust it any.

"I just wanted to, uh, see how you're doing" his voice cracks as he finishes his last word. I soften a little, remembering when we were both scared children in a cave. Peeta, after all, was there the whole way, and if anyone can understand my pain, it is Peeta. Peeta has suffered quite a bit if not more than me, if I'm being fair and honest: two games, a total loss of his family, relentless torture, and a terrible hijacking of his sanity. It seems he has made progress in that respect as well.

"I'm…alright." I say, unsure of what else there is to say and not really wanting to say the absolute truth. I have been a zombie, borderline catatonic.

"Are you doing much these days? I never really see you." He sounds so nervous.

"Eh." I quickly change the subject. "I heard you opened up the bakery again."

"Yeah!" His voice comes up in pitch just a little, he continues sounding a little less nervous. "It was hard at first because I don't have my family with me…but I just got to this point where I had to do something with my life. I had to get up and try to move forward despite the pain." He pauses. "You can't just sit there and mourn your losses forever. They may not have their lives anymore, but you still are alive, Katniss. You owe it to them, to her, to do something. You've got to get out of that house." His voice is sounding surer and yet he speaks more quickly. "You have to live again. And that's why I am calling. I want to help you. I want to see Katniss, not just the remnant shards of a broken vase…I miss my friend…I miss you."

I take a forced breath and try to comprehend what Peeta had just said. It was true and it was fair. I am wasting away. I am doing nothing. But I'm not as strong as Peeta. How does he expect me to just pick up and move on? How can I possibly keep going when at any minute I could just fall apart?

"Peeta" I breathe uneasily, unsure of what my next move was. "Peeta, I've got to go." And I hung up. It is hard to breathe, hard to think. My mind is cluttered and all I can do is try to push away the resounding thought: Peeta is right. Prim's life is in vain if I am not living. All those who so willingly died for me…their lives are wasted if I waste mine. So how do I make them proud? How do I honor them? It can't be as easy as he makes it sound. Sure, Peeta is doing well, but I am not Peeta. I am not strong like him. One look at my patchwork skin will tell you, I am a weak fire mutt who is afraid of everything and everyone.

Maybe all I can do is learn to walk again. I remember when Prim learned how to walk. My mother let me be her helper and we guided Prim one step at a time until finally after many, many tumbles and stumbles, she could do it all on her own. Maybe that is how I move forward. I take it one step at a time.

I slowly step away from the living room and soon I am in my bedroom, changing clothes. I am putting on new underwear and brushing through my matted hair. I am rubbing ointment on my ugly burns. I am tying my shoelaces. You can do this, Katniss—this is my mantra. This is what keeps me moving. This is what keeps my heart beating. And it is beating. I notice for the first time in what feels like forever, my heart is beating.

Suddenly without too much fanfare, I am out the door and headed next door.

* * *

**G'day guys! This is my story and I really hope you like it. I've just been soooo crazy busy and stressed about wedding planning that I finally decided that I needed an outlet. So here it is!(: Please let me know what you think by reviewing constructively(: Thanks and have a beautiful day!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes sweetheart?" A gruff voice answered my hesitant knocks. I push myself in past him and walk toward the kitchen dodging vomit and broken bottles.

"Do you have any of these that you haven't broken?" I asked impatiently, sifting through the various liquor bottles, broken and empty on the tile floor. He laughed humorlessly.

"You lookin' for a drink?" I didn't answer. "Well, you're looking in the wrong place. I'm all out 'til the next train and you can be damn sure that when the choo choo comes, you won't be getting any of my stash. The boy would kill me." I looked down at the floor, feeling a little ashamed.

"Well, who says it's any of Peeta's business?" I ask trying to keep an edge in my voice. Since when did I answer to Peeta? I think about our phone call and reconsider whether or not I want to accept his advice. What I really need is to think, and drink, and think some more. Haymitch ignores my question.

"He's got his act together. He's started the bakery up. What are you doing? You're not even alive. You're cold and lifeless. You're a corpse. A corpse, Katniss" He says evenly and directly. I feel a sting in my chest.

"I am not a corpse. I wish to god I could say I was a corpse. Everyone I know is a corpse." I say regretfully, the faces reappear. I see Prim. Fire. Parachutes. Blood.

"Everyone you know, but PEETA. Everyone you know, but ME. We're not dead yet, don't count us out." He yelled angrily. I am wordless. He continues. "Where do you get the right to mope around so pathetically? You think that everyone who died offered up their life so that you can have a staring match with the wall for days on end? You're pathetic. Peeta lost more than you, INCLUDING HIS OWN MIND, and he isn't whining. He isn't wearing last month's underwear and cold fish eyes to match. He's moving on with his life. Because he realizes that to move forward, you have to walk. And here you come to drink yourself into oblivion. Well, sorry sister, not here. I won't let you do this. You can't…" He chokes on his words. I look up from the ground and from behind my glassy tear filled eyes, I see him struggling to keep his own tears within. "You can't become me." He says with finality.

"Peeta said that to me earlier…about moving on" I clarified. I didn't know what to say.

"You know I told you that you could live a thousand lives and not deserve him, but I was wrong. You could live one hundred billion lives and still not even come close to deserving him." The second he spoke these words, I knew they were true. Peeta was this rare form of goodness—untouchable and unwavering even in the midst of a mental theft. He is a beautiful, shining, radiant good that no one could ever attain save for him. And even though I have given him no reason to love me or trust me or even care if I breathe, he does. Even though his mind told him that I was evil and not to be trusted, he fought it until he was mostly back to old Peeta who thought I was flawless. Hijacked Peeta had it right. I am a mutt, a horrible girl who has misused and abused his love, who manipulated him to live and who broke his heart a million times. I wonder idly how it is that I still cannot bring myself to use the word "love." Yes. I care about Peeta. Yes. It would destroy me if anything further happened to the boy with the bread. Yes. He is my best friend, only friend, and sometimes I miss him so much I can't breathe. But does all that equate to loving him?

"How do I get better?" I ask quietly, humbly.

"To get better, you gotta stop being bitter." He says simply.

"Aren't you being even a tad hypocritical?" I ask, thinking of his bitter, absent, drunken rampages. I look around at the beat up home; green striped wallpaper torn off the dining room walls in places, broken plates on the kitchen floor with broken bottles, holes in various walls and doors…Haymitch is still a mess. Always has been. And yet here he is telling me how to run my life?

"I'm saving you a lifetime of pain and self loathing. Get over your issues and get on with life. That's my advice. Take it or leave it." He says as he crosses over to his front door and opens it, a clear sign that I have worn out my welcome.

I exit and begin to walk mindlessly into town. The air is not bitterly cold like the last time I had been out. It is comfortable, breezy, and welcoming. I breathed in one of the first real breaths of fresh air that I had taken in months. My breathing came easier and my steps were sure, even though they were undirected. It was just nice to be outside.

I was at the bakery before I even realized I was going there. It smelled of warm, fresh bread. I walked into the front of the shop; looking around me I saw that this bakery was very Peeta. It wasn't much like the old bakery if you forgive its namesake. The walls were painted orange, sunset orange with different shades as you got closer to the base of the wall. It was a sunset only Peeta could capture. Suddenly I was reminded of our night on the beach in district four. I clutched my pocket where I held my money and the pearl. I always had the pearl on me. I don't know why.

Just as I think of this, I look to the other side where a large, nearly identical pearl was painted on the wall. My breath hitched. I turned to focus on the treats instead of getting emotional. Inside the large display case were the iced cakes Prim and I used to look longingly at so often, well, until the Baker's witch of wife would run us off. I stepped up to the counter, eyeing a pink cupcake that screamed Prim to me. I would eat in remembrance of her, she would like that.

I lightly touch the service bell and suddenly a blonde haired man is before me. He is much more muscular than I remembered. He is as beautiful as ever. His eyes are the same piercing blue, but underneath them the skin is bruised and discolored. I expect this is because of the nightmares. I assume that I have them too, I'm sure he does not miss the bags and dark circles under my eyes. He smiles, gently.

"Katniss," he breathes. "What a surprise! What can I get for you today?" He asks genially. Of course, how else would Peeta react? Peeta is the kindest person there ever was.

"The shop looks perfect. It reminds me of district four." I blurted out. He seems surprised by my outburst, but laughs anyway.

"Well, that's what I had in mind. It's a fonder memory for me." He smiles. I know we are both thinking of the pearl and the kiss that made me hungrier than a lack of food ever had.

"I still have the pearl. Even now. Right now, actually…in my pocket." I keep saying things, I don't know if Peeta cares. If he doesn't, he is polite as ever. His eyes open widely and he smiles.

"Do you really?" His smile is infectious, and it has spread to my face so easily.

"Yeah" I admit quietly. "In thirteen, I would roll it through my fingers when you were…gone. And it helped me. So, thank you."

"Of course. I'm glad I could…help you get through that." He said tentatively. I needed to change the subject. We couldn't talk about the hijacking right here, right now. On our first reunion.

"I want the pink cupcake, please" I dug my hand into my pocket and fished out several coins. I looked down at the price, and started sorting out my coins.

"No charge" Peeta says, handing me the cake.

"Nonsense. Its three bits and some, right?" Peeta looked at me with raised eyebrows and nudged the cupcake toward me, still.

"Katniss, please no charge." He says again. He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. "Take it."

"Okay."

I go and sit down at one of the few tables. Peeta, surprisingly, sits down and joins me. It is awkward at first, but soon enough we meld back into old Katniss and Peeta, albeit broken and scarred, but the same people. I laugh at his jokes and a story about a mishap with yeast and dough. He smiles when I show him the pearl. I look sympathetically at him as he tells me of his nightmares and flashbacks. He reaches his hand toward mine when I tear up about Prim and how she would love the cupcake and new district twelve. I also thank him for the primroses and cheese buns. He smiles, I smile. He laughs, I laugh. We talk until well after close of business, and he walks me home. We nervously hug, I pull back much too soon. I go to sleep after brushing my teeth for the first time in at least a month. I think about the day until I fall asleep. I dream of pearls and sunsets.

The nightmares return, as always, but for the first time since the war—I make it until the morning. When I look out the window in the morning, I could swear that there in the yard, just one dandelion has sprouted.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up again. Screaming. The images flash through my mind as quick as lightning and vindictive in their onslaught—fire, parachutes, blood, gunshots, Snow choking on his own blood, the ground opening itself up nearly swallowing me whole, roses, mutts in the sewer, mutts in the forest, Finnick, and Prim. Even though I am awake, I cannot see anything but these atrocities, one after the other as if on a loop.

"Stop! Please stop! No more!" I scream at the top of my lungs and thrash about tangling myself in the comforter. I begin to feel even more trapped, it's too real. I am back in the Capitol. I am paralyzed to the hovercraft, going into the arena once more. I am going to die.

"Katniss?! Katniss!" I faintly hear a voice call out as there is a loud crash somewhere nearby. I am not sure if this is real. The voice continues low, but distinctive among the sounds of death and destruction. "Katniss, wake up! It's not real. Wake up! You're just having a nightmare. Not real." I continue to scream.

"Prim! Prim, move out of the way! Prim! What are you doing here?! Prim!" I call out for the ghost of my dear one, vehement tears streaming down my cheeks as I watch her rush to the aid of the children.

"Not real, Katniss. She's not there. Not real." He coaxes. "Remember that game we used to play for me, back when I was…confused? Real or not real? It's not real, Katniss. Please. Wake up" I am further away from the war. The voice becomes louder. "Katniss, the war is over. You're okay. You're here in district twelve. I'm here. It's me, Peeta."

My eyes snap open. Not real. It was not real. I look up, confused, at Peeta. He gazes down at me, understandingly and suddenly I cannot stop crying again. He pulls me near to him in one swift movement and then into his arms. He rubs my back and smoothes over my hair. His fingers trace gentle circles over my shoulder blades and he whispers in my ear. "It's okay, it's okay, I've got you. I've got you."

My muscles relax and the tears come to a stop. I want to ask a slew of questions but as I open my mouth, he shakes his head and puts his index finger to my lips. "Tomorrow. Sleep, Katniss" he orders softly. I want to protest. What time is it? How did he get into my house? Did he hear me all the way from his house? Why now, after so long? But my eye lids feel heavy. And I know that I need more sleep. So, I hold on to the promise of tomorrow.

The bed shifts and I know Peeta has gotten up. I can hear his uneven footsteps heading toward my door as quietly as he can manage with the prosthetic. I whisper in a strained voice and he pauses. "Stay with me?" It is something that has left my lips too many times.

"Always." He whispers. It is something that I can never hear enough. He climbs back onto my bed. He unhooks his prosthetic and snuggles close to me, wrapping me safe in his arms. I feel delicate and safe.

At least for the remainder of the night, the nightmares do not return.

The next morning, I wake up and find the other half of my bed empty. For some reason, this distresses me. Where is Peeta? It isn't like last night is a normal occurrence for us. Back on the train, this was our routine, but things have changed since then in nearly every way. Peeta had not so much as visited me, nor I him, until that night. Yes, we had that night at the bakery and he walked me home but it had been a week since then and the most I had seen him was a quick wave when we were both in town. Peeta coming to rescue me from my night terror was surprising, to say the least. That being said, I did not mind it one bit.

I ambled down the stairs and into my kitchen, out on the table were a plate of cheese buns and a note that said "Try not to eat them all at once" with a smiley face.

Of course. He is at the bakery. Life doesn't stop on the account of me. Shouldn't I be doing something? I peek out the window and sun tells me that it is a little before noon. The weather looks plenty amiable and for a moment, I yearn to be back in the woods. I hadn't gone yet. I just couldn't bring myself to. With no one to provide for and a full belly, I could not force myself to shoot again even though I deeply wanted to. The more I thought about it, the more I longed to nock an arrow and let it fly. I longed to see if I could still shoot a squirrel through the eye even after seven dormant months.

Without giving myself time to think of a counter argument to hunting, I put on my hunting boots and jacket and head out to the meadow. I can't help but notice that there are several dandelions sprouting. I smile slightly. When I was little, I used to pick them and blow all the seeds into the wind. I had heard that if you got all in one breath, your wish would come true. My mother told me that dandelions are weeds, and that if there are weeds, other useful plants like herbs and flowers have a hard time growing. I prefer the weeds. I try not to look too much into that.

As I approach the fence, I notice two things. The fence is no longer electrified, because it is a free country now and hunting is no longer prohibited. The fence only remains to keep the flesh-eaters out. And there is a small latch in the fence, a door that opens out. My days of elbow crawling my way under the fence were through. I smile, a little more liberally.

Once in the forest, I wonder to myself why it took me so long to come back. The air is fresh and the ambience refreshing. I retrieve a bow and quiver of arrows from one of the hollowed out trees. I venture into the forest, taking in my surroundings. The forest was quiet today, and so was I. My steps were sure as I side stepped the loud twigs in favor of the stream.

My thoughts led me back to Peeta. After walking down stairs this morning, I realized that my habit of not locking the doors allowed him entry into my house. He was too thoughtful. Really. After all of the drama that had happened in the past several years, he is still thinking of me. He is still looking out for me. I try to think of a time when I have done the same for him and fail to recall. Since we came back to district twelve, I had mostly pretended that Peeta wasn't even alive. I had mostly pretended that _I _wasn't even alive. He is sure to have struggled just as much. His episodes have probably left him choking on memories of the Capitol and the torture. When had I come in and saved him from his episodes? When had I cared? When had it even crossed my mind? I felt a bit ashamed of myself. Thinking further, I felt a lot ashamed of myself.

My mind flashed back to bakery and the night we spent talking. I think he would be pleased to know that I am back in the woods. I am hunting! I spot a squirrel on a low branch in a tree maybe fifteen feet from me and remove an arrow from the quiver, nocking it into my bow. My arrows are pure; they are not tainted with stain of guilt or the blood of an enemy. My eye focuses and when I pull back on the string, my hands are not forced by the Capitol, a tribute, or Coin. I release with confidence and straight through the eye, my arrow pierces the squirrel that falls out of the tree. I collect the squirrel and find that I am satisfied for the day. It is just one, and it is a small start, but still a start. On the way back to district twelve, I ditch the bow and arrows in the tree and come through the gate, latching it behind me.

I almost skip to the bakery, I am so thrilled. I feel joy bubbling up within me. Fulfillment. If I can just catch one squirrel a day, I would have fresh meat—a special treat and addition for my usual vegetable stew and I could go to bed knowing that I have something in my life that I enjoy. As I walk through town, I notice small things. The smoke from the chimney of the blacksmith. The children playing a game involving chalk and jumping. The stray cats that have full bellies. District twelve is a different place. It is a world no one could have imagined, something I never got my hopes up for.

I enter the bakery and Peeta smiles as me quickly before returning his attention to his customer. "Alright, just the cookie for you, then? And anything for the little guy?" He waved to the woman in front of me's toddler son. She nodded a swift no.

"Thanks, but he's still hyped up after his extra cupcake yesterday." She gave him a pointed look and he looked down, obviously guilty. It was well known that Peeta would slip extra goodies in for the young children. He had a weakness.

"Well, alright! We'll see ya next week, May belle" he called as she guided her son out of the bakery. The little blonde haired boy reached toward the cookie coercing a laugh from me and a "no-no" from his mommy.

I held up my squirrel proudly and skipped up to the counter. "Someone may have caught this today" I said with a smile.

"Someone, you say?" He laughed as he wiped the counter with a wet wash cloth. "Did you see it happen? Quick! Describe them to me, I can try to do a quick sketch of them. We can turn them in to the proper authorities" he winked at me, a little flirtatiously, which normally would have made me withdraw, but not today.

"Me. It was me!" I replied giddily. "I went into the forest and Peeta, I hunted. And I didn't freak out like I thought I would. It went so well. I thought I'd forget how to shoot" He smiled.

"But you didn't?" He discarded the rag into a bin of water.

"I didn't!" I once again waved my squirrel in the air.

"Ahh. So, you're coming to my house for dinner so I can cook that for you!" It wasn't a question. He had a smile playing at his lips, waiting for mine to break first. I gave in.

"Is that what you think?" I teased. "You're just trying to get some squirrel!"

He looked offended. "What! Well, I never…I'm just trying to be a good neighbor." He smirked.

"Tell you what, you bring the bread and I'll bring the squirrel. We'll make a meal out of it." He smiled as I said this.

"I think you just want to hang out with me." He stated as he reached into his display case handing me an orange cupcake. "In honor of your hunting victories" he said, nudging the sweet toward me. I took it without refusal this time, feeling pretty cheery—which was weird. In the back of my mind, the alarms went off. I mentally pressed snooze. I am happy. Maybe not forever; But at least in this moment, I am content—and like they said, step by step, moment by moment. I am alive.

"Six." I ordered as I licked around the edge of the cupcake, reveling in the sweetness of the frosting.

"Six." He agreed with a smile which I returned.

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**Hey! Here it is! Several more chapters to go! I have so much planned for this story(: Sorry that I've been slow on updates. Between 40 hour work weeks, being a volunteer at my church, and planning my wedding, I barely have time to catch my breath. However, I'm determined to be more faithful! PLEASE review! I write much faster when there are pretty, shiny, reviews to read. Thanks to everyone reading this story and again, review review review!**


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